


Pierce the Night

by messofthejess



Category: Soul Eater
Genre: Cunnilingus, F/M, Face-Sitting, Genital Piercing, Late at Night, Piercings, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Tongue Piercings, Vaginal Sex, late night sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-24
Updated: 2016-11-24
Packaged: 2018-09-01 21:38:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8639008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/messofthejess/pseuds/messofthejess
Summary: They take comfort in their shared metal and ink when they wake up in the middle of the night.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This piece was inspired partly by "First Poem for You" by Kim Addonizio.
> 
> I like to touch your tattoos in complete  
> darkness, when I can’t see them. I’m sure of  
> where they are, know by heart the neat  
> lines of lightning pulsing just above  
> your nipple, can find, as if by instinct, the blue  
> swirls of water on your shoulder where a serpent  
> twists, facing a dragon. When I pull you
> 
> to me, taking you until we’re spent  
> and quiet on the sheets, I love to kiss  
> the pictures in your skin. They’ll last until  
> you’re seared to ashes; whatever persists  
> or turns to pain between us, they will still  
> be there. Such permanence is terrifying.  
> So I touch them in the dark; but touch them, trying.

She stirs and finds herself blinking at a burst of inked lightning across his chest. A bleary glance over her shoulder tells her that it’s somewhere past 3:00 a.m. and she really, really should not be waking up at this hour for something so trivial as a dry mouth. But Marie gets up anyway, unwinding herself from Stein’s grasp (his arms are just so _long_ ) and toddling off to the bathroom for water, bare feet slapping the cool bedroom floor.

            He’s awake when she comes back, covers pooled around his stomach as he sits up on his elbows. She stretches her arms above her head, and her sleep shirt tugs up so he can just see the surface bars on her hips glimmering in the moonlight.

            “Are you all right?” Stein asks, flicking his eyes back up to meet her own.

            “’m fine. Just thirsty,” Marie mumbles. She tucks her tousled hair behind her ear and climbs back into bed, back into her fiancé’s ridiculously long but loving arms. He lets out a pleased hum when she presses her face into the crook of his neck, her fingers dancing along the line of stitches across his chest leading to his shoulder.

            Most other people thought he was grotesque—she’d had to fend off her fair share of judgmental looks whenever she managed to tug him out to go shopping. There wasn’t really a quick way to explain that Stein thought his body was a living, experimental canvas, but frankly Marie had grown past the point of offering people explanations. If they didn’t like what they saw, they didn’t have to look. She, on the other hand, could look as much as she wanted. And touch. He encouraged the touching, really, sleeping shirtless most nights unless his circulation was really poor and blankets just weren’t enough.

            She traces around the outlines of the mandala he has scarified on his shoulder, and another hum rumbles through his throat and against her cheek. Marie panicked the first time she saw it after he’d taken off the gauze, worried it had infected. But then the scar tissue started layering in, and now the mandala looks beautiful, like an intricate flower. It suits him to have a map of the cosmos somewhere on his body.

            “You can’t sleep,” he says as her fingers move up his shoulder to his neck.

            “Mmm.”

            “We have class in the morning.”

            “Don’t care.”

            Stein’s hand comes up to Marie’s hair, the other one pressing on the small of her back. He twirls a blonde curl around his finger lazily, smiling down at her. “I think you do.”

            “Don’t,” Marie insists, leaning into his neck and nipping the skin ever so lightly. Predictably, it makes him jump a bit, his hand migrating down to her hip and squeezing.

            “Well, if you don’t mind staying up, I have an idea or two of what we could do.”

            “Oh?” A devilish smirk curls up Marie’s face. “And what might that be?”

            Stein tilts his head down by way of answer and kisses her softly, his hand drifting down to her ass and pulling her even closer. She feels the cool silver stud in his tongue press against her lips, and she lets him in to explore. He didn’t bother telling her when he’d done that little modification—he let it be a surprise the next time he ate her out, and it’d nearly made her fly off the bed. Marie moans and pushes against his touch on her ass; he replies by squeezing her harder, his rough fingers digging into the plush.

            “Marie,” he sighs, moving down to her neck and peppering it with kisses. His fingers twine out of her hair and slip around the silver chain lying against her collarbones, and he feels the vibrations of her moan through his stubbled cheek. It’s his turn to smirk as he tugs on the chain and she hikes a leg up over his hip, pressing tighter to him.

            “You’re still attached to your collar, I see,” Stein murmurs against her throat before he sucks on the skin, fingers still toying with the chain. Marie digs her nails into his back, trying to angle her hips to grind on his length, but he wiggles far enough away to make her whimper. “ _Du weißt du gehörst zu mir._ ”

            “Franken, _please_. Just let me—”

            “We’re taking it slow.” Another tug on the chain.

            “ _Bitte?_ ”

            Now that makes him pause. Stein pulls back to fully take in her face, her amber eye looking up at him pleadingly. If he wasn’t rock-hard before… “Say that again.”

            “ _Bitte,_ Franken. Um… _ich will dich in mir?_ ”

            And he’s full sail. He should really teach her some more filthy German phrases when they’re both more awake and less aroused. But for now, he’s far more interested in kissing her hard and deep as a reward. She moans softly and rolls onto her back as he hovers over her, his hand moving away from her chain and under her sleep shirt to her breasts, circling lightly around her nipple. The gray stitches tattooed under her breasts beg to be stroked, but he’s taking it purposefully slow. If they’re both going to be awake at this hour, he’s going to give her the most he can.

            He must admit he was rather surprised the first time she took her shirt off after she’d gotten the tattoo done; he didn’t know she was interested in ink. But he could tell something was off because she hadn’t been wearing a bra for two weeks (he was definitely sure of _that_ little observation), and she’d taken to wearing looser tops than usual. It took a good deal of coaxing and kisses to get a blushing Marie to admit she was inspired by him, by the burst of lightning he had over his heart, and she needed a mark of him on her body as well. He then commented that he would more than willingly give her hickeys every day if she wanted, to which she’d batted at him playfully.

            “Something more _permanent_ , Franken,” she’d laughed.

            “Theoretically, if the bites never went away—”

            “Franken!”

            “Franken?” he hears her breathe, and he snaps out of his thoughts and back to the matter at hand. Marie’s fingers are wrapped around his wrist, locking him in place. She looks up at him expectantly, her cheeks and lips flushed brilliant pink.

            “Yes, Marie?”

            “Could I…sit on you?”

            Oh, _yes._ She barely even had to finish the question before he clapped his hands on her shoulders and rolled them both so she was on top, making her squeal. He has a very fond memory of the first time she’d sat on his face. Poor, naïve Marie thought she was punishing him one day behind the doors of a locked classroom for some suggestive comment or other he’d made during lecture by hiking up her skirt and attempting to suffocate him. It took him moaning her name rather loudly and a cheeky lick to the underside of her thigh before she got the picture. And oh, what a picture it was. He wasn’t much for begging, but he would request a face-sitting cheerfully every day of the week if he thought he could get by with it.

            Marie moves to tug off her sleep shirt, but Stein stops her.

            “No,” he says. “Keep it on.” He’s not sure what it is, but something about having the fabric pooled around his face while he gets busy makes it all the more pleasurable. She nods, the studs in the shell of her ear sparkling, and she crawls over his torso, caging him in with her thighs. He doesn’t even bother biting back his moan when she settles over his mouth, grabbing her ass with both hands and flicking his tongue out instinctively.

           “ _Franken_ ,” she sighs, fingers twisting into his hair and pulling. “Oh, please, please, _please!_ ”

           “ _Sei geduldig,_ ” he rumbles into her core, rolling his tongue over her in long, loving strokes. She had a piercing through her hood, a small diamond chip embedded into a silver ring. Gold suited her much better, but he smirked at the thought that, like the chain around her neck, the silver was a reminder that she was partly his, too. He flexes his stomach, trying to keep himself from coming on the spot and not saving anything for her. One of his hands shifts to massage her inner thigh while she grinds on his face, nearly sobbing with how he was making her tremble.

          “Fuck, that feels good…you’re so good…”

          “Marie…”

           He decides to be a little brave and thrust his tongue inside her to rub against her walls. What he doesn’t expect is her gushing and crying out for him, grinding harder while she grips the headboard for leverage. But he’s more than happy to take her to the edge, so he drinks it in, his entire face sopping and his whole body feeling like a live wire. Normally he likes to be in resonance when she orgasms, but tonight he reaches out for her in the afterglow and she latches on like he’s a buoy in the ocean, aching and wanting still. His fingers drum on her inner thigh for her to get off—physically, of course, he’s already taken care of the sexual one—and he wraps his arms around her as soon as she flops down on the pillows again, glowing bright gold.

           “ _Sie schmecken so gut,_ ” he mumbles before he kisses her damp forehead. Her chest is still heaving, and he can’t help but watch how her breasts rise and fall under her thin sleep shirt. Marie’s eyes follow his downward; she somehow finds the breath to giggle.

           “Oh, don’t tell me you’re looking at my soul right now. That excuse only worked in high school,” she rolls her eye.

           Stein smirks at her. “I’m surprised that ever did work.”

          “It didn’t, really.”

          “And here I thought I was being subtle.” He bends down to kiss her nose. “You should see your soul right now, though, Marie. It’s glowing, much like you are. Throwing off sparks.”

          “Those sparks are from you.” She presses her palms to his coarse cheeks and pulls him down to her mouth, taking his lower lip between her teeth and worrying it until the skin is dark pink. He presses their hips together, his length hot against her leg, his hands wandering under her sleep shirt again to her breasts. She wiggles away long enough to tug the shirt off and toss it to the floor, then resumes their kissing, hiking a leg up around his waist and exposing herself.

           “Do you want to?” he asks, his throat husky. But he barely even has to ask, because she nods and moans “Yes,” bringing her other leg up to cross over the other one. She glances down long enough to catch a glimmer of gold on his shaft, a curved barbell pierced right through his head. Her hair fans out behind her head as she presses back into the pillows, waiting for him to enter her.

            And enter he does, painstakingly slow, his smirk softening into a smile as he watches her face blossom with pleasure again. Some might call a Jacob’s ladder excessive, others crazy, but he’d never been one to shy away from experimenting on himself. Besides, the real experiment was seeing how his fiancée reacted as each bit of rounded metal slid against her walls, her darkened lip pulled tight between her teeth. Her entire vocabulary went out the window, only able to murmur his name as he presses flaming kisses to her throat.

           “I love you,” he hums to her collarbone. He’s not one who says the phrase very often, preferring to show his affection rather than say it. Words get tired so easily, he maintains; that’s why he uses so few of them each day. But there are moments like this when he feels compelled to tell her, lets the words spill over his tongue so she has verbal affirmation. Because Marie is a romantic to the core, and he can’t help but indulge her.

          “I love you,” she hums back. “Take me.”

           His strokes are slow, his touch on her shoulders firm but so, so tender. They break eye contact only to kiss, their tongues pressing together briefly before coming apart once again. His fingers trace over the shell of her ear, down to where she has a tiny bolt tattooed at the point where her skull meets her neck, and into her hair, cradling her head as he rocks into her. Her fingernails don’t bite into his skin as they so often do, but they scrape gently along his spine while she murmurs his name over and over.

          When Stein finally can’t hold back any longer and spills over, panting her name, Marie rises up to meet him, her hand brushing his bangs up out of his eyes for a moment.

          “Stay inside for a little while,” she says.

          He doesn’t need to hear her say _please_ , because he can’t refuse her.

**Author's Note:**

> I refuse to apologize.


End file.
